


Unbraided

by HardPass



Series: Carried Away [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen, Bad Poetry, Bromance, Cassandra's tiny braid, Drunk Cassandra is the best, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, I'm not sorry, Like really bad poetry, Occasional mention of Varric's chest hair, Sassy Inquisitor, Some sexual discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9853913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardPass/pseuds/HardPass
Summary: The Inquisitor is determined to make friends with Cassandra, and getting her drunk seems like the best way to do it. Poetry and hijinks ensue.





	

Caroline’s armor stunk to the high heavens thanks to the damned Fallow Mire. The first thing she did upon her return to Skyhold, unwilling to bring her gear anywhere near her quarters, was dump everything out in the middle of the courtyard next to the well, grab a bar of soap, and scrub every single thing she owned.

“Damned corpses and their corpse juice stinking up everything they touch,” she grumbled as she peeled down to her under layer of clothes, acknowledging that going any further would cause a scandal. Winter wouldn't release its grip on Skyhold, but separating herself from stench was worth the freeze.

She sat on the ground with her armor in her lap, rubbing it down with oil. The oil overwhelmed the reek, giving her a much needed reprieve. It made her hopeful that she wouldn’t have to burn it all.

From up above her in the tavern, she heard Sera squeal. “It’s in my boots! It’s in the boots I wasn’t even wearing! Carrie! Carrie, this is your fault! I’m never going on an adventure with you ever again!”

She couldn’t blame her. Normally she would snark off a retort, but she couldn’t come up with anything. Scowling harder, she scraped a suspicious glob of sludge from a greave and shuddered. There was not enough soap in the world. She tossed the greave aside in disgust and grabbed the bar of soap to wash her hands again. 

“Better go easy or you won’t have any skin left.” 

She squinted up as Blackwall grabbed the well bucket to lower down. “A corpse exploded on me. It exploded, Blackwall. It didn’t just rudely drip its innards on me after an unlucky slash. It popped out of the water and grabbed my leg, I reacted poorly, called down a bolt of lightning, and the entire thing erupted. I will scrub until there is no skin left, because I feel that is the only way I will ever be clean again.” 

He arched both eyebrows. “I hate those bloody things.” 

_ “Carrie.” _ Sera’s scream could be heard from every corner of Skyhold. “It’s In. My.  _ Hair _ .” 

“It also exploded on Sera, Dorian, and Iron Bull. And that was just day one,” she added. 

“Did you get the Avvar, though?” 

“Yes. I got the bloody Avvar. The barbarian prick is dead. And I will never personally deal with shit in that bog again. Corpses climbing out of the bloody waterways, indeed!” she snarled under her breath, grabbing a scrub brush and her robe to scour it down to the very threads. 

“Nasty blighters,” he agreed, hauling his bucket to the top of the well. 

“Anything interesting happen while we were off?” she sighed. 

“You’re better off asking Josephine or Cullen or Leliana. I’ve been helping with reconstruction efforts, mostly.” 

“Not really the best application of your skills. I’m sorry, Blackwall. I’m sure I can find you something interesting to do.” 

He shrugged. “I don’t really mind. I find the work...restful.” 

To each their own. At least somebody was happy. 

A fresh peal from Sera split her ears, followed by a tirade of swearing interluded with her name. 

“Bully on her for taking her gear up to her room before cleaning it,” she snorted. 

“I swear I just saw Dorian walking past without much struggle.” 

Her glare could have split flesh. “Dorian has a nifty spell that keeps his gear spotless because he’s  _ Dorian _ and  _ of course _ he does. It was too late by the time he bothered to share this information with the rest of us. It would have had to have had to been applied before we waded through innards to have any effect. And no, I will never forgive him. I can’t prove it, but I’m certain he held out on purpose just to watch us suffer and squirm.” 

“That’s not nice.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll get him back,” she growled.

“I’d hate to be him. Good luck with your undead juice. I wish I knew what would get the stink out for you.” 

“Let me know when you’re over your restful work. I’ve got a bog you can clear out of corpses.” 

“I’ll stick with stonemasonry for a while, thanks.” 

Bending back to her gear, she resumed scrubbing. 

It took her hours. There wasn’t a single item that was untouched by gore or soaked with rotting bog water. She had every item she brought with her spread across the ground next to the well as she systematically cleaned each one. By nightfall, she felt good enough to gather it all together and head into the keep to acquire a proper bath and clean clothes. 

Caroline almost felt human again when she headed down to the great hall to track down a plate of food. Somebody had the good sense to call ahead to the kitchens during her bath to have them begin preparing something. Her ass hardly hit the seat before she had a full plate and bottle of wine presented in front of her. 

“Thank the Maker,” she groaned. 

She was only a few mouthfuls in when she spotted Cassandra passing through. 

“Hey, Cassandra!” she called, lifting a hand to wave her down. “I need you for a second. Do you have a minute?” 

The woman diverted course to approach her. “What can I do for you, Inquisitor?” 

Always so uptight. “First, call me something other than that. Second, I need your nose.”

“My nose?” 

“Indeed. Get close. My nose quit working properly days ago, so I have no idea how much I succeeded or failed getting clean. Give me a good sniff. Do you smell bloated corpse at all? I abhor the idea of climbing into bed tonight with any of that stench still attached to me.” 

Cassandra kept her distance. “I’m not sure I’m the right person…” 

“Why, does your sense of smell not work?” 

“It works fine.” 

“Then get over here. You’d be doing me a favor. Please, Cassandra?” 

Muttering a prayer to the Maker, she crossed over and leaned over the table and gave an experimental sniff. 

“You’re three feet away from me. Get close.” 

Rolling her eyes, she complied, leaning closer until her nose was practically pressed to Caroline’s hair. 

“I don’t smell anything. I think you’re safe.” She retracted gratefully.

“Thanks, Cass. Have you eaten yet?” 

“Not yet.” 

“You want to join me?” 

“It would be my pleasure Inquisit….Caroline.” 

Cassandra was a terrible liar and would have probably liked nothing more than to flee, but manners and decorum prevented her from refusing the invitation. One of the kitchen drudges scurried a plate out to her after she sat, lingering and listening hard as they exchanged general pleasantries. They both knew the way gossip started and circulated, waiting patiently for the drudge to move on. 

“Other than the unfortunately exploding corpse, how did things go in the Fallow Mire?” she asked when they were left to their meal. 

Picking at the greens on her plate, she shrugged. “Oh, it wasn’t terrible. Lovely trees. I’m just never, ever going back for as long as I live.” 

“I should have guessed.” 

They made other inane small talk as they ate, speaking of renovations and general attitudes toward others in her inner circle. It wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have, but the Seeker spooked too easily. She kept the woman talking, all the while refilling both of their goblets with the wine bottle until she felt loose and saw some of the tension bleed out of Cassandra’s shoulders. 

“Come on,” she said, rising from her seat and motioning to her. “Let’s take this to the proper tavern and get a real drink.” 

“Oh, no, I’ve had plenty.” 

“You wouldn’t make me drink alone, would you?” 

“There are plenty of other--”

“Aren’t we friends, Cassandra?” 

“Some days I wonder,” she replied flatly. 

Caroline linked arms with her to tug out of the keep. “Come have fun with me. You do know what that is? Fun? It’s the thing you do that makes you smile. Like reading Varric’s romance novels! That is an example of fun.” 

“I do not--!” she gasped, outraged. 

“Oh, sure you do, and who wouldn’t? I love those fucking things. I’ve been harping at him to write the next one for ages,” she confessed. 

“You...you have?” 

“Shit, yes. And I saw you reading one out in the yard a few weeks ago. One of these days, I’m going to kidnap the little bastard and put him in one of my jail cells until he pumps out the next installment. I will never forgive him if he doesn’t resolve that cliffhanger.” 

“I know! I can’t believe he left it like that!” she cried, then quickly cleared her throat. “I had no idea you enjoyed them, but it’s not something I talk about. He would never let me hear the end of it if he found out. I didn’t think you would, either.” 

“Yes, well, the nights are long, and those books are spicy.” 

“They are, aren’t they?” 

She smirked and nudged her. “See? We have more in common than you already think. So please come have another drink with me? Just one little drink?” 

“Oh, all right. Just the one.” 

Caroline could do a lot with one drink. They ranted about Varric’s callous treatment of his romance serial as they made their way to the tavern. She ordered for them both, getting them each a shot of Dragon’s Breath to start out with. It went down about as easily as burning coals would, but once they both settled, it worked its magic quickly. 

One drink turned into another. Then another. Then another. They sat in a corner table, recounting their favorite characters of the books and memorable scenes. 

“Cassie,” she said, slurring her name, “I have to ask you, seriously, as a friend. Do you feel the same level of sexual tension with Varric as I do?” 

She gasped scandalously. “ _ You _ feel sexual tension with Varric? I thought you admired Cullen!” 

Waving her hands in the air, nearly unbalancing out of her chair, she corrected herself. “No, I mean with  _ you _ . You have sexual tension with Varric. I see it. Your arguing is basically foreplay.” 

“That is foreplay I have no interest in.” 

She inclined forward. “Really? What do you like, then, Cassandra?” 

“Poetry,” she declared shamelessly, slamming her hand on the table. “But men all lack motivation and creativity. You think Varric would ever write me a poem? Ha!” 

“Do you  _ want _ him to write you a poem?” 

“I don’t know. I think I would like it if he wanted to write me one. He would fail. He’s not  _ that  _ good of a writer,” she scoffed. 

“I like this.” She made another show of waving her hands. “Why do you lock this side of you up, Cassie? You’ve got this hard, armored shell, when in reality, you’re a true romantic. You want to be wooed by a man.” 

“Isn’t that what you want?” 

She shrugged. “Not really.” 

“Then what do you want? What is your idea of good foreplay?”

“I don’t know. A lot of cunnilingus?” 

Cassandra had her next drink up to her lips, but sprayed it all over the table. “Inquisitor!” 

“What? You were honest with me, so I was just being honest back. But here’s the real question. This is the question, Cassie, are you ready? Focus.” She pointed between their noses to keep her attention. “You and I have selected the  _ wrong  _ men. Varric won’t write you poetry, and Cullen won’t--” 

“You think he wouldn’t?” 

“I’ve been seducing him since Haven with almost no progress. I’ve had to claw for every inch I break him out of his comfort zone. I will work my way up to getting him to go down on me with abandon, but for now, I have to worry about him dying of embarrassment if I bring up holding hands. You know, this isn’t like me?” she admitted, nose wrinkled. “Time. Effort. Patience. Back before the Inquisition, I’d have never done it. Not for any man.”  

Cassandra propped her head in her hand with a lamenting sigh. “What changed?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think it’s maybe his ruff. So majestic…” 

“You know what? We are worth more. We are worth the things we want, damn it.” 

She nodded. “Damn right we are. If nobody will do it for us, let’s do it ourselves. I mean, maybe not my thing, but we can write some poetry! Let’s do it. I’m writing you poetry, Cassie. You deserve poetry. I’m going to be your fucking poet.” 

“Oh, would you, Carrie? Nobody has ever written me poetry before!” 

“That's stupid. I need supplies. Ink. Paper. Limericks. Do you think Josie is working? Probably. Let's raid Cullen's office. If he gets cross, I'll just tell him my tits tingle for him and we can make our escape while he falls into a twitching hibernation.”

Grabbing Cassandra's hand, she charged out into the cold. Fresh snowfall swirled over the battlements, blanketing sound and glinting off the parapets. They took the icy stairs recklessly. Caroline slipped and jammed her shin against one of the steps, but bravely strode on. She'd been stabbed before. In battle. With a sword. The step had nothing on her. 

Cullen's office was empty when they sneaked in, much to her disbelief. “I honestly thought he might be bound to this place, like a spirit.” 

They staggered to his desk and scavenged fountain pens, ink, and old scouting reports to recycle and write on the back of. They headed out to the battlements where they wouldn't be caught and sat together under a ledge to write. 

“You know, Carrie, I don't know if I've ever had this much fun. People don't usually include me in anything that could be considered 'shenanigans.’ How do you do it? Just...let go?” 

Jotting words down, she said, “You give less of a fuck about what anyone thinks.”

“But  _ how _ ?”

“Learn to love embarrassment.”

“I don't understand. How could anyone love embarrassment?”

Caroline sat back against the stone wall, squinting over her sloppy poem. “It makes people laugh. Laughing makes people happy. It's no different than throwing yourself in front of a blade meant for a friend--or stranger, even. You sacrifice some pride, but you absorb the impact meant for somebody else. Make yourself the target. And because I make myself the butt of the joke, I then own the joke. Nobody can hurt me with my own joke.” 

“That...actually made a lot of sense. How drunk am I?” 

“Super drunk. What are you writing about?” 

“Varric's stupid chest hair.”

“Don't let anyone tell you that you don't know how to do shenanigans, Cassie.” 

They finished their respective scribbles and lurched out from under the overhang. Caroline spearheaded their next activity. With the Seeker giggling frantically behind her, she clambered up onto the wall overlooking Skyhold. 

“Be careful.” Despite the warning, Cassandra climbed up with her. 

“I'm fine.” Raising her voice, she shouted into the wind. “Listen up, Skyhold! Your Inquisitor addresses you!” 

Skyhold largely ignored her, but that was beside the point. 

“ _ Cassandra of the little braid/wrapped 'bout your head like a crown/matching in its own parade/turning gravity upside down. Is it something of the Fade?/Will staring at it make me drown?/Call along the fashion brigade!/when they see it how they frown. Screw those guys, how they degrade/for it is such a silky brown/there's nothing I would take in trade/for the world that little braid! _ ” 

Cassandra clapped her hands over her mouth. “Inquisitor. Carrie. That was...the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. And you wrote it about me!” 

“Of course I did.” 

“Inquisitor!” Blackwall approached at a run, waving his arms. 

“Ah, Blackwall my good man! How goes the stonemasonry? Did you hear my poem about Cass?” 

“What are you two doing? Get down from there!” He pulled up, holding a out cautioning hand and reaching for her.  

“Don't touch my friend!” Cassandra cried, bungling her sword from its sheath to brandish wildly. Caroline grabbed her shirt to keep her from overbalancing. 

“Oh, Maker, be careful! Just come on down, both of you. Please.” 

“Cassandra has a poem to read first.” 

“Can she read it not on top of the wall?” 

She cocked her head at him, whispering to the Seeker. “Is it the beard that speaks, or his mouth? Did the face grow a beard, or did the beard grow a face? What are we dealing with exactly.”

“Please, Inquisitor, see reason. You're going to fall and die.” 

Caroline uttered, “I'm going to try communicating with it.” To the beard, she declared, “Beard! Beard beard beard, beard beard. Beard beard beard beard beard, beard, beard beard. Beard beard beard beard; beard beard.” 

Blackwall's beard did not respond. It just stared at her, bristling, while the face behind scrunched in utter incomprehension. 

“What's going on here?” 

Cullen emerged from his office, stopping short when he saw Caroline and Cassandra, sword in hand, facing down Blackwall's beard from atop the battlements. 

“Thank the Maker you're here! Your girlfriend's gone mad! They both have. Get them down before they kill themselves!” 

“What?” 

“Cass has a poem to read! I'm not leaving this wall until she is heard!” She declared fiercely. 

His hands up as he approached cautiously, Cullen motioned for her. “We can hear her just fine from down here. Come off the wall and we'll listen.” 

She stood in defiance. “You can't tell me what to do.” 

“No, I know, but I really don't want you to get hurt. Just come down and we'll hear the poetry. Inquisitor, come down.” 

She sucked in a breath, muttering to Cassandra, “Uh-oh. He called me 'Inquisitor.’ He only does that when he's  _ really  _ serious.”

“What should we do?” 

“Read the poem. If they charge, I'll defend you.” 

Cassandra cleared her throat while Caroline stood protectively next to her, launching into the poem with gusto. 

“I call this poem 'The Deep Blue V.’” 

“Ooh, catchy!” 

“Thank you.” She pulled in a deep breath. “ _ Hark! Hear the heralding call of the hirsute humor/hailing ahead of heels ahold/hold! Eyes that have hardwon handlings/avail upon tangled hills. Hasten and hear, halfwit/for hair froths henceforth in the valley/here, here and here/unavoidable/unheard of/in the half hold of the V.” _

“Cassandra. That was beautiful!” she gasped. 

Blackwall turned to Cullen, beard quivering frenetically. “Did you understand a single word of that?”

He shook his head, mouth slightly agape. Clearing his throat, be said, “Will you both please come down now?”

“Oh all right.” She hopped down from the wall, losing her balance. Cullen caught her arm, preventing her from smashing her face into the ground. “I can do it! I've got it.”

“Fine, fine.” He backed up carefully. 

Also climbing down from the wall, Cassandra brandished her sword. “Cullen, you and I must have words.” 

“Oh, Maker’s breath, what now?” 

“You have mistreated my friend.” She stood fiercely in front of Caroline, shaking her fist at the Commander. “She deserves cunnilingus!” 

Everybody on the wall froze. 

“Oh, Cassie,” she breathed. “Cassie, you are  _ such _ a good friend. For standing up for me. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

They held hands and locked eyes, sharing a moment of unadulterated bonding. 

“What do we do?” Blackwall uttered, aghast. 

“I...I don't…” Cullen spluttered, jaw agape. “Um...into my office. Go fetch real food and water. They're probably freezing, not that they know it. They just need to sober up.” His face positively glowed in the darkness. 

They allowed themselves to be steered together into his office where he lit a fire while Blackwall dashed off for food. Caroline perched on the desk, motioning for her new best friend to join her. 

“Would you mind terribly much if I unbraided your hair, Cassie, dear?” 

“Why not?” 

Unpinning the piece, she worked through it until it was entirely undone, humming merrily in the meantime. 

“Caroline, are you bleeding?” Cullen asked. 

“Where?” 

“Your leg. There's blood dripping off your boot.” 

“Huh? Oh. Must be where I hit the step.” Now that she noticed, it did throb quite a bit.

She ignored it, rebraiding the one piece of Cassandra's hair she kept long. She used a fishtail braid, switching up her look a little.

“Maybe you should see to your leg,” the Seeker suggested, peering over the edge of the desk at the bloody floor. 

Sighing like a wronged man, Cullen knelt in front of her to see what he could do. 

“Well, it's a start,” Cassandra mused. “You at least got him on his knees in front of you.”

He flashed her a look that Caroline interpreted as meaning that she was dead to him for all eternity. Cassandra had made such good progress this night. She couldn't be prouder. 

The door to the office swung open, but instead of Blackwall, Sera pranced through. “Oy, you ponces, I hear you broke Cassandra and made her fun. I had to see it with my own eyes. Got twenty quid riding on it being a lie.” 

“I made her fun! It's completely true! Look, she's letting me braid her hair and scolded Cullen about cunnilingus.”

“No,” she gasped. 

“Yes!” 

Cullen looked like he wanted to die. 

“Perfect! I want in before she goes back to normal. This is a girl party now. Out, Captain Curlyhead!” 

He stared the elf down. “This is my office.”

“Don't make me throw bees at you! Out, out, out!” 

At a loss, he threw up his hands and left.

“Better!” Sera humphed, pulling a bottle of bourbon from under her jacket. “Care for a tipple?” 

“You two are terrible influences,” Cassandra groaned. “But I'm in.” 

“Good. Because we're going to do something I've wanted to do since we got here.” Sera looked between them with bright eyes. “We're going to take every piece of furniture in Josephine's office and nail it to the ceiling.” 

Caroline looked to Cassandra, and Cassandra said, “It will take a feat of engineering.” 

“Fuck that. I have magic,” she reminded them both. 

“So are you two in?” 

They nodded. 

“We're in.” 


End file.
